


The Great Incident of March 2007 (and Why it's Still Relevant Today)

by blueoleandar93



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alcohol, Eye Contact, Language, M/M, Massages, but no spoilers, non-au, set in season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueoleandar93/pseuds/blueoleandar93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan and Reid don't talk about The Great Incident of March 2007, but maybe they should.</p><p> </p><p>(Inspired by a prompt by tabbystardust.tumblr.com: I need fic where Morgan and Reid are sitting on the plane on the way home after an exhausting case and Reid is sprawling with his feet on Morgan’s lap and Morgan is giving him a foot massage and Reid is basically melting into the seat and making indecent noises.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Incident of March 2007 (and Why it's Still Relevant Today)

Morgan could feel his eyes drooping as he headed to the only available seat on the comfortable leather couch of the well-traveled FBI sanctioned jet. He was sore everywhere. The case had been brutal and demanding. It was one of those where the unsub was smart. Very smart. Almost unsettlingly so. He covered his tracks so well that Minnesota didn’t even realize it had a serial killer until the man had struck twelve murders. 

When they got there, the cops at the precinct were hostile with embarrassment -- especially their Captain, a very disgruntled Desert Storm veteran named Mr. Harrison Gardener. He fought Hotch on every command, idea, and suggestion, blaming the team for his insufficiency with every narrowed glare of his haunted blue eyes. But, Hotch fought back. Hard. Like the badass he is. And, it took a week of hard digging, countless conversations with victims’ families, and nine different geological profiles until they finally found the man they were looking for. 

Of course he used to work for the military.

Of course he was special ops.

Of course he kicked five officer’s (and Morgan’s) ass when they found him and went down swinging.

Nevertheless, he went down. The entire team was beat. JJ’s eyes were glued shut in a hibernation-like sleep. Rossi was sprawled across two of the arm chairs, snoring like a steamboat. Lewis was face down in a book on the table, and even Hotch was snoozing gently against the window. Reid on the other hand was wide awake with a nervous energy that rivaled hysteria. Having just poured a hot cup of joe himself, Morgan couldn’t give less of a damn who was asleep. He just needed to sit down.

The young doctor fiddled with his hands like they’d betrayed him, flipping along an invisible Rubik’s cube with a distant concentration when Morgan reached down and lifted his skinny little legs up. Morgan ducked underneath the plain business slack covered shins and set them down over his lap as he eased into the other end of the couch that Reid usually claims for himself. But, not tonight. Tonight, the son of a bitch is going to share because Morgan’s body is in serious need of rest. 

As he settled Reid’s feet back down on his body, Reid grimaced at the touch. He spoke in his adorably cracky voice, “Hey, watch it. My legs are sore.”

Morgan scoffed, lifting his mug and taking a sip of the hot java, the bean-y smoke blowing into his face and calming him down, “Oh, your legs are sore, now? Are they? I’m sure sitting on your pretty little ass all day really took a lot out of you while I was wrestling six guns away from a man who knows Tai Chi better than the crazy bitches in Chen Village who invented the damned thing.”

“Touche.” Reid let out a soft chuckle, his hands stilling as he gestured toward Morgan’s mug, “Can I have a sip?”

Morgan passed the mug over to Reid and smiled fondly as his coworker grasped the cup in his greedy busy hands, “Yeah, sure. Even though it’s way past your bedtime.”

Reid took a sip of the coffee and grinned a closed lipped smile, “Mmm. Bitter, but smooth. Like you.”

Morgan reached over Reid’s knees and smacked at the boy’s head playfully, “Hey, now. Don’t make me come over there.”

Reid laughed and took another soft sip of coffee, “I’m not scared of you.”

“I know.” Morgan replied, setting his hands on Reid’s sore calves and rubbing gently, “My plan is working. I will let you live for now, but soon you shall become my prey.”

Reid laughed harder from behind the coffee mug. It shouldn’t have been so cute. He let out a bashful sigh as he finished laughing, the crinkles beside his eyes so much more defined than Morgan remembered. It was only yesterday when Reid was the BAU’s fresh faced new hire, all baggy sweaters and low self esteem. Now, he has seen the world. He’s seen awful, God forsaken things. He’s risen to a barrel full of challenges and pulled ten times his own weight in this world. He’s learned how to accept people as they are, enforce change, make a difference in more ways than one, and maybe one day he’ll lead. But, now? Now he’s a man. A beautiful, beautiful man. One that knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take it.

But, gosh, how Morgan wishes Reid would just  _take it_ already. 

They’ve been dancing around this for longer than he can remember, but if he had to set a date to it, it would be March 23rd 2007. Or, as they refer to it as, The Great Incident of March 2007. It was the end of a doosy of a case in Iowa (some guy chopping off bitches’ hands and using them to make stools for a real-life Barbie dream house) and Prentiss decided that it would be a good idea to take the team out to get wasted at the local karaoke bar and have JJ be the D.D. (designated driver, or in this case, drunk daycare). 

Prentiss and Morgan decided to kick off the night with a couple Jager Bombs as Reid and JJ watched in disgust. After polishing off two of them, Prentiss asked what Reid’s lemon face was for and Reid replied “I don’t drink”. Prentiss answered, “You do now”, bought him a shot of Jose Cuervo, and begged him not to pussy out on it because she wanted to see his face when he has his first taste of Tequila. 

It was golden. Reid grimaced the moment it hit his mouth and took a moment to force it all down, but when he did, his face was contorted in disgust. He snatched at the lime on the side of the empty glass and sucked on it like it was manna from the gods. Prentiss ordered him another one and he looked at her like she was crazy. But, she pushed it toward him and he didn’t pussy out. He didn’t pussy out the three times after that either. Before long, our proper, top-button-kind-of-guy Reid was legitimately twerking to Rihanna’s  _Umbrella_ on the side of the bar, shaking out his chin length curls and handing his tie and waistcoat to a highly amused JJ to shove in her purse. It was a hot mess. Emphasis on the mess. Morgan watched this dorky weirdo dance through his Jagermeister and rum dazed goggles, and for the first time he noticed just how _pretty_ his Pretty Boy was. 

So, Morgan danced with him. 

He showed Reid just how to shake that shapely tush of his and Reid laughed and spilled his Long Island all over their shoes as they danced, nodding to Prentiss as she grinded on a sexy Asian man named Sun. It got wild. Even JJ joined in. If Morgan wasn’t so focused on Reid, it would have been a super fun night with his friends that he’d never forget. But the music got heavy and the lights got dim and Reid had this look in his eyes that made Morgan weak in the knees. Then the young doctor bit his lip and, Morgan shits you not, gave Morgan these pouty “fuck me, Daddy” eyes. And, it was all she wrote. Morgan dragged Reid towards the mens’ room, giving a half assed excuse to the girls as Reid followed eagerly with a smile on his blushing face. They barely even got to the handicapped stall before Reid’s full lips were pressing greedily against his. It was all tongue and hands and gripping and clothes and passion. Reid was pushing him against the stall and Morgan was grabbing his body and lifting it against the safety rail to press in between his legs and they shoved and they kissed and they sweat and they begged and pulled at hair and zippers, so turned on that the heat spilled into the gasping breaths they shared.

Morgan left the club with two hickeys on his neck and Reid’s designer boxer briefs shoved into his back pocket, the tipsiest he’d been since college. And, Reid stumbled out beside him with his hair mussed beyond recognition and his lips bitten red. His tie was askew and his shirt was totally misbuttoned. The girls gave the two a knowing once over as they hopped into JJ’s car. The whole ride back, Morgan and Reid played with each other’s hands, drawing little figures on them with their fingers. And, when Prentiss got out of the car, they started making out in the backseat. JJ threw a water bottle at them and told them to quiet down before smiling, “Young love.”

When they got to work the next day, Reid dragged Morgan into the break room to talk about it and they agreed it was a one time only deal. After all, they were both relatively new to the field with only a handful of years under their belts and had their careers to think about. A scandal could ruin them, especially as the young men of an experimental branch of FBI services. If their superiors caught wind of what they’d done the night before, they’d be sacked with desk duty for eons due to misconduct -- if not fired. 

So, they never spoke of it again.

Ever. 

But, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t think about it. Oh, they thought about it constantly. There were times when Morgan got caught getting his daily eyeful of Reid’s body in the mornings, and even got brave enough to touch that soft hair again. 

And, there were times like now. When Reid glances up at Morgan over a cup of coffee with that sly grin on his plump pink lips and that same look in his eye that he gave in that bar in 2007. Oh, yeah. Morgan knows “fuck me, Daddy” when he sees it, and Reid is serving it up good as he takes yet another sip of Morgan’s bitter coffee. Reid licked a drop off of his lower lip and added, “Your prey, huh? How serendipitous. I thought I was the hunter.” 

Morgan continued to rub down Reid’s leg gently, hand traveling to his sensible black Chuck Taylors, “It’s said that all men are hunters. But, if a hunter is caught off guard, it can quickly become a meal when the beast gets its revenge.”

Reid asked with a challenging look in his eyes, replacing the flirty glance they once held, “Are you saying I’m unfit to hunt?”

Morgan replied as he pulled off one of Reid’s sneakers to reveal a green and red striped sock, “I’m saying your legs are sore.”

Reid raised an eyebrow in curiosity as Morgan’s hands traveled down his leg and slowed to a stop on the arch of his foot. He squeezed gently, alternating between grinding his thumbs in and soothing over with his fingers. Reid tilted his head back at the feeling, letting out a soft moan, “Ahhh, that feels nice.”

“I know. It’s called a foot massage. It’s good for blood circulation. Might even calm down that hyperactive mind of yours for a minute, you think?” Morgan replied, rubbing gently at the undersides of Reid’s foot, thumbs digging and pushing at the pad underneath the toes.

Reid set the coffee mug down on the cup holder beside his head before settling his back into the leather couch, the material letting out a growling “squeak” at the pressure of Morgan’s body on his. He ran his hand through his own cropped wavy curls, hands getting caught in a tangle or two. He could really use a brush through. Mmm. Morgan would brush his hair. He’d wash it, condition it, detangle and get to work with some trimming scissors. Then, he’d blow Reid out. Just... you know, not with a handheld dryer. 

Morgan rubbed and rubbed at Reid’s socked foot, popping the other shoe off and giving the plain orange socked foot equal attention. Reid became putty in Morgan’s hands, back arching and moaning, and moaning, and nodding, and moaning. He was just on the edge of quiet not to disturb the other people on the plane from their sleep, but Morgan watched those lips open and close, licking gently at swollen lips as he tossed his head back and leaned into the relaxation of the massage. 

Morgan wanted to kiss his neck. 

Reid lifted his head and looked Morgan dead in the eyes and tilted his head toward the plane’s bathroom before giving those eyes again. 

Those eyes that meant so much in such a short amount of time. 

Those eyes that wrote the dirtiest sonnets while those lips stayed quiet. 

Those eyes that meant nothing but trouble. 

 

Morgan likes trouble.


End file.
